


petrichor

by Merideath



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 01:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8309155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/pseuds/Merideath
Summary: Petrichor. 
The word travels round and round Darcy’s head, unravelling and weaving itself back together.  The scent of warm pavement after the rain. 
There is no rain in the safehouse. No concrete.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> For Miin, who wanted fluff, cuddles, and hot chocolate. My brain has been kicking my ass and focus is at nil, so it took a fair bit longer to write this little ficlet than I had hoped. 
> 
> HUGE thanks go to dizzyredhead for beta'ing and catching all the autocorrect blunders and the horrific amount of tense switching. The only excuses I have are writing on my phone and being so short on focus I only ever write a few paragraphs at a time.

Petrichor. 

The word travels round and round Darcy’s head, unravelling and weaving itself back together. The scent of warm pavement after the rain. 

There is no rain in the safehouse. No concrete. Only four ex-heroes, wood and paint and not nearly enough blankets to go around. Darcy tugs the sleeves of her tunic down over her hands, attempting to make herself as warm and small as possible. 

She clenches her jaw tight, keeping her teeth from chattering as Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, and Bucky Barnes argue. The conversation kept going around in circles and she’d lost track not long after it started, spent the last fifteen minutes trying to tune everything out before anxiety had a chance to dig its claws in and tear her to pieces. 

It wasn't the first time she felt so out of place, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Darcy shivers, ice piercing bone, and the hollow space she imagines her heart should be. 

“Are you okay, Darcy?” Natasha asks, curling her hand over Darcy’s arm.

“Just cold. I hate this part of my cycle,” Darcy says. There’s no point lying to Natasha; she might not be an omega like Darcy, but her senses were honed enough to scent Darcy’s emotional state beneath her normal scent and the thicker one of her impending heat.

Proestrus was a bitch. Or maybe it just made Darcy it’s bitch. Twice a year felt like two times too many. The heat itself never seemed to plague her as much as the week before it rolled over her. She had toys and her own two hands, no need for a coupling she didn't want, not yet. But the time before always seemed to throw her into a tailspin.

If only Jane and Thor had stayed on earth, then she’d be curled up beside Jane while she worked, feeling safe and loved. Darcy winces at the turn of her thoughts. She is safe, after all. But it isn’t home, it isn’t her nest, and despite the heroes milling about, she feels achingly alone.

“Is there anything I can do?” Natasha asks, rubbing Darcy’s arm gently. 

‘Let me go home?’ Darcy thinks, but says, “A blanket, and, uh, maybe a hug.” A blush colors Darcy’s cheeks and she hopes that the house’s environmental scrubbers take away the scent of her embarrassment and desperation before it can reach the men standing in the kitchen. “Or coffee. Coffee’s good.”

“I can do one better,” Natasha says, reaching up to stroke Darcy’s tangled hair. “Wait here.”

“Like there’s anywhere I can go. You and the ex-heroes over there kidnapped-”

“Rescued.”

“Whatever. Anyway, you rescued me from AIM’s Team Golden Showers. Which I was totally handling, be tee dubs, those assfaces are like the worst, and what is with all the yellow? It's not even a flattering color. God, why is it so cold in here? I'm literally freezing my tits off. Fuck, I'm babbling. Sorry,” Darcy says. “I'm okay.” She wraps her arms tighter around herself, holding in the distressed whimper clawing at her ribcage. 

“Shh, it’s fine,” Natasha says. She slides her hand down to squeeze Darcy’s shoulder once before winding her way across the room to the open archway leading into the kitchen.

“Give me your sweater,” Natasha says, holding out a hand impatiently. Steve barely glances at her, moving his arms back to strip the navy blue cardigan off. “Thanks. Go back to arguing, boys. None of you are right.” 

Natasha steps back across the room holding the cardigan between her hands. “Here, put this on.”

“I d--” Darcy opens her mouth to protest, but the words die on her tongue at the tilt of Natasha’s head and the subtle arch of her brow. Darcy shrugs and reaches for the sweater. There were times to argue, but now was not one of them. “Fine.”

Natasha helps her slip the cardigan on, deadly fingers buttoning the dark shell buttons. The sweater is still warm from Steve’s body heat. “Better?” 

“A little,” Darcy says. She brings her sweater-covered hands up to her nose, breathing in Steve Rogers’ alpha scent. Petrichor and redwood smoke. It sends her senses reeling, a ripple of warmth and safety washes through her chest and settles in her belly. “Why Steve’s?”

“Sam isn't wearing a sweater and James...isn't the sharing type.”

“Bucky isn't or you aren't?” Darcy asks, a smile creeping into her voice. 

“Do you want a hug or not? I'm sure I have other things to do.”

“Noooo,” Darcy whines louder than she means to. The sound catches the attention of the men and three heads swivel in unison. A flush of embarrassment sweeps across Darcy’s cheeks, her stomach sinking down somewhere below her feet. 

It's quiet enough Darcy can hear the faint sound of a car alarm screaming. Steve’s jaw drops, his nostrils flaring to catch her scent. She’s caught between wanting him to scent her and desperately wanting to get the hell out of there. Ice crawls down her spine and she folds into herself a little bit more. 

Natasha clucks her tongue, curling her arm around Darcy. The hug is brief, awkward and calming all at once. Natasha’s natural scent is faint, wintry, like pine needles and snow. Before Darcy knew it, she’s being steered towards the couch with a gentle. “Sit.”

“Okay,” Darcy watches, owl-eyed, as Natasha fusses around her, plumping the cushions and tucking a thin yellow and orange woven throw around Darcy’s legs.

“I'll go see if there’s any coffee left for you.”

“You’re an angel.”

“No, that's Sam,” Natasha says. Her lips twist up in an amused smirk. “Be still and I'll see what I can do to warm you up.”

“That’s what she said,” Darcy says. A laugh bubbles up from her belly and forces its way through her lips. If only her eyes didn't keep threatening to spill tears down her cheeks. God, she really doesn’t want to cry in front of everyone.

Bah. 

Part of her wants to rebel at Natasha’s fussing, but the rest of her is too tired to care that the most badass avenger, someone that she hardly knew, was taking care of her. Not that she knew the rest of Cap’s Merry Band of Misanthropes any better. 

Sure, Steve and Thor were bros, but on the few occasions Steve had visited, Darcy had stayed glued to Jane's side. She wasn't afraid of being an unmated omega near an unmated alpha, she considered herself a card-carrying member of the Self Rescuing Princess Society (have taser will travel), after all. She feared the possibility of him. Steve Rogers ticked far too many boxes.

Darcy closes her eyes, tucks her cold hands between her thighs, and evens her breathing. Each lungful of air wraps the scent of Steve around her. A warm, comforting feeling settling in her belly. Rain, and asphalt. Leaves and...chocolate?

“Darcy? Are you okay?” Steve asks. He's inches away from her, crouching down on the balls of his feet, a lemon yellow mug, nearly the same shade as the AIM worker bees wore, held in his left hand. “Romanoff says you aren't doing so good, thought I might help.”

“I'm fine-” Darcy starts, cutting herself off with a huff. She lifts one shoulder in as casual a shrug as she can manage. “I’m fine in the way that fine doesn't mean fine. It means the opposite of fine. Between the AIM tools, Jane off in space, proestrus, and being here. No offence.”

“None taken.”

“I just...I just want to go home to my nest. Don’t worry, I’m not stupid. I know I can't.”

A traitorous tear works its way down Darcy’s cheek. She yanks her hands out from under the throw to wipe the tear away. “God, I’m sorry. You've got like the whole world gunning for you and I'm sitting here whining because I'm cold, I want to cry and scream, and I’ve not even said thank you for doing the whole badass in black, heroes for hire thing. Well not for hire, but you know what I mean. Ugh, sorry. Faulty filter when I’m tired. Okay, that’s a lie, but I’m gonna shut up now anyway.” 

“Here, drink this first and we’ll see if we can get you warmed up,” Steve says softly. He presses the mug into her hands, wrapping his fingers around hers. His hands are warm and calloused, his fingertips ghosting over the backs of Darcy wrists as he pulls away. 

Darcy nods and brings the mug to her lips taking a small sip. The hot chocolate is watery, but it's hot enough to warm a path down to her belly. “Thanks, it’s...nice.”

“It's awful, but it's hot,” Steve says. “I'm gonna unlace your boots now, if that's okay.” 

He lifts his hand, wrist turned up, offering Darcy his scent as if she isn’t already drowning in it. The formal gesture makes Darcy’s lips twitch up. She sets the mug of cocoa aside and leans forward. The tip of her nose brushes over Steve’s wrist as she breathes in his scent. Earth and asphalt. Rain and redwood. 

Her eyes slide shut and she breathes in his scent for nearly a full minute before leaning back and offering her own wrist, covered in the long sleeve of Steve’s cardigan. A low purr rumbles up from Steve’s chest as he pulls back the sleeve, warm hand wrapping lightly over her forearm as he dips his head down to memorise her scent. 

His breath fans out across her skin and a thought comes squirming up from the back of her brain: her neck would be a better place for him to map her scent, behind her ear, where his scent, imbedded in the cardigan, hadn't mingled with her own. 

A shiver runs down her back that has little to do with her icy limbs and everything to do with the instinct to offer up her neck. “Alpha,” Darcy says, voice soft and low. 

“Omega,” Steve rumbles. His thumb sweeps over her wrist once and he shifts back, deft fingers pulling at the laces of her boot. Steve tugs her boot off, setting it down neatly beside the couch, and strips off her Starry Night socks. “Nice socks.”

“Thanks, I stole them from Jane...oh,” she says as Steve begins massaging warmth back into her cold toes. His hands are hot, clever fingers burning into her skin. A soft sigh of pleasure slips past Darcy’s lips. “Oh, God, don't stop.”

Heat floods into her pale face, bright spots of red above her cheekbones. Steve laughs, blue eyes sparkling. His hands slip up to massage her calves through her leggings and back down to the balls of her feet. 

Steve pulls her socks back on her feet and unfolds his body, towering over Darcy. Her stomach flip flops when he lifts the throw and settles down on the couch beside her. He moves her around as if she weighs nothing, turning her so her back is against the arm of the sofa and her legs drape over his lap. 

The blanket settles down over them both. Steve curls an arm around her back, pulling her body into his. He reaches beneath the to take Darcy’s hands in his larger one. Heat radiates off his body, a low comforting purr rumbling through his chest. 

Darcy breathes in his scent, eyes fluttering shut as she soaks in his warmth.   
“...keeping you,” she slurs. She can still taste tears in the back of her throat, but she’s surrounded by Steve’s warmth, heat sinking down into her bones.


End file.
